


Knives Goes For A Run

by Hawkbringer



Series: Stampede of Millions Orphanage AU [3]
Category: Trigun
Genre: Angst, Curtain Fic, Exercising is good for venting rage, Family Dinners, Knives-centric, M/M, Mental Link, Post-Anime, Pre-Slash, Sibling Rivalry, Silent Conversations, Social Awkwardness, Telepathic Bond, Unhealthy Self-Talk, Unhealthy fixation, Wolfwood came back from the dead somehow dont worry about it, children are violent little a-holes sometimes, rage issues, vash the masochist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkbringer/pseuds/Hawkbringer
Summary: Knives thinks he is doing so much better these days at playing along with Vash's little social nicities. He even silently leaves the table during Family Dinners if he gets too angry to answer a question politely! But Vash disagrees. (Knives is getting better at talking down the scared, angry voice in his head, and Vash inadvertently teaches him that exercise and keeping the peace at home actually helps.)
Relationships: Millions Knives & Vash the Stampede
Series: Stampede of Millions Orphanage AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1434997
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Knives Goes For A Run

Knives is doing much better these days, having settled into the mental bond he and Vash share, the two of them swapping images and wordless shouts of emotional states across vast distances with more speed and clarity than ever. Vash still fears for the children’s safety when they speak to Knives or tug at his clothing, so he does not let Knives leave his line of sight when the children are around them. Wolfwood has returned. Knives has acclimated to washing his hands. Their nighttime koala-hugging ritual has cooled somewhat into a more comedic scene, of Vash simply being excessively cuddly and Knives remains silent and stone-faced about it. Knives has convinced himself that this private indignity is a fair trade for the increasingly assertive and callously-dominating tendencies he’s seeing Vash display. The more like his brother the Stampede becomes, the less aggressive the former war criminal himself feels he needs to be. Vash is truly teaching him the art of balance. 

Family Dinner still remain a flashpoint between them, as Vash has so many preconceived notions about behavior that he /never bothers to inform Knives of/, and has no intentions of backing down from enforcing. Knives thinks himself as VERY advanced and accommodating for never resorting to violence and simply /leaving the table/ in silence when he gets sick of the insect’s probing questions. Vash does not agree.

The last time he tried that, his preferred ‘leaving the table’ coping mechanism, Vash’s resulting stony silence had been so infuriatingly /superior-sounding/ that he had literally begged Vash, (after choking him, briefly, to preserve his pride,) to tell him /why/ he was not talking to him. 

The pettiness of the answer, that he had left Family Dinner on Wesday and not answered a direct question from Meryl, made Knives' hands loosen and Vash had slid down back onto his feet. 

After adjusting his collar subtly, Vash had said, "If you want me to keep talking to you, you'll have to apologize at Family Dinner tonight, and never again leave the table for a ridiculous reason like not wanting to answer a question one of the family asks you." 

"One of the..." Knives nearly broke his own nose as he planted his face into his palm. He shook slightly with suppressed rage and for the first time in several days, Vash's voice sounded in his mind. 

/Do you need to go shoot something?/ 

Knives answered, a touch hysterically, skin crawling from the relief, the gratitude, at hearing his brother’s mental voice again, /Yes, actually, I really do. Preferably several somethings. Preferably /live/ somethings./

Vash pursed his lips and the picture-perfect sound-memory of Rem Saverem saying, "No one has the right to take life of another," planted itself whole-cloth in Knives' mind. 

Grunting at the grotesque perversion of what should be their own personal method of communication, Knives parried, /except for food./ 

Vash's shoulders slumped, remembering how he had lost that argument in the early days.

/Ahhh, unfortunately, none of our thomases are old enough to be put on the menu in the near future./ Vash rubbed the back of his head apologetically. /Would shooting targets do?/

/With Meryl's deringers?/ Knives asked unhappily. Vash grinned placatingly, falsely, again.

/Uh-huh! Unless you want to go for a run around the property or something./

Knives blinked. /A...run?/

/Yeah,/ Vash tried to explain with too much hand-waving and too little use of actual images to be comprehensible. /I've seen the kids do it. They challenge each other to run around the whole perimeter in a certain period of time. I think they count the time by shouting out numbers...?/ Vash trailed off, not entirely certain if this was why numbers were periodically shouted by the children, down from 100 or up from 1.

Knives heaved a tight sigh. If he couldn't shoot something and watch it bleed, he may as well 'go for a run'. /I'll go run... if you come with me./ It was meant as a barb, as a way to shut Vash up, to shut him down, but the blond seemed so happy to be talking to his brother again (yet wasn't it /he/ who started the self-imposed isolation, Knives wondered) that he simply nodded and grinned and fairly bounced out the door, eagerly consenting.

So, Knives went for a run. Vash followed him. The two of them pushed each other to go faster, completing the entire 7-acre circuit in 10 minutes, then 7, then 5. 

Upon the completion of the record-breaking 5-minute lap, Vash comedically fell to the ground just inside the perimeter of green grass that grew within the Plants' sphere of influence. (Having a pair in one globe more than tripled their power output and the orphanage enjoyed a literal sphere of tranquility, dust storms and bad winds skipping over the bubble that surrounded the place.) Vash began panting and writhing most egregiously, shouting about his life ending. 

Knives was exhausted, but could have run another lap. He wondered why Vash had stopped, if Knives himself was still fit to run. He stood a ways ahead of where Vash had landed, hands on his knees as he panted, and rose to full height after a few seconds. 

Like flies, orphans were attracted to the sound of Vash's distress. Suddenly, Knives felt a tug on his borrowed trousers' leg, near the knee. "Mr. Fives?" 

(Many of the children had not learned to correctly pronounce Knives' name and Vash had instructed him more viciously than normal that the children were to be indulged at every turn and Knives was to bottle up his agitation and release it upon Vash in the form of verbal insults at a later hour in the day. His mechanical hand had clamped with inhuman strength around Knives' throat as he said this. "I will shoot you in the thighs again," he informed Knives, "if you are anything approaching callous to the children. And you /don't/ like being bed-ridden, I know that." Knives had looked away, Vash's grip giving him no room to shake his head. "So you will indulge them. You don't have to be /kind/, I don't think that's possible for you, anyway, but you will answer their questions, unless they're about death or sex, and if they want to play with you, you say "thank you for the offer, but I am very busy" and you walk away. If a bunch gang up on you and insist upon it, shout for one of us, or leap out of their midst and run back to the house and lock yourself in." Vash's face softened as he imagined the scenario. Then he added, "Or you could just let yourself get beaten up. It's a fine art. Just watch me." Knives had, on several occasions, watched just that, and not comprehended it. The children came to the conclusion that Knives was No Fun At All, and told newcomers not to even bother asking Dull Knives to play, which suited all the adults just fine.) 

"Yes, child?" Knives asked out of habit, looking down and seeing a much shorter version of vermin larva than usual. That explained the lack of tongue mastery, at least. 

"Why is Mr. Fast saying he's gonna die?" Knives looked over to Vash, who was still rolling on the ground dramatically, but was clearly coherent enough to shoot a note of pure warning to his brother over their mental connection. 

Knives considered the question and truly did not have an answer, himself. "I don't know," he told the child honestly. "But I think you should distract him by jumping on him," he added, wishing to gloat over Vash being trapped into entertaining a small horde of children, who had come running at the sight of their fellows gathering in the distance.

"Yeah!" the child shouted, immediately distracted, and followed Knives' suggestion quite literally, and jumped upon Vash, who began shouting in a much higher pitch and calling out to the other orphans for help. The smaller ones merely jumped upon him as well and the older ones went so far as to hold his limbs down as their younger counterparts bounced on their behinds upon Vash's chest or, in some cases, stood at full height upon the erstwhile gunman and stomped viciously up and down upon his legs and ribs and even head. 

Knives, in his near-exhaustion, simply watched, amused and somewhat fascinated by the ability of humans to inflict pain, even at so young an age. 

Soon after, however, Milly, drawn by the shouting, wandered outside and shooed the enthusiastic children away. She then pulled Vash from the ground with one arm, demonstrating a level of physical strength uncommon in human females, in Knives' admittedly limited experience. The two of them brushed down Vash's thoroughly sweated-through and dust-covered shirt and trousers, declared they would have to be washed, and then Milly cheerfully remembered that it was time for dinner. 

Knives nearly allowed his shoulders to slump. 

/Now?/ he asked with some trepidation as the two of them trailed Milly back towards the house. /I have to apologize now?/

/Yes,/ Vash informed him without turning back. /I'll be there, you don't need to worry./ 

/I'm hardly worried,/ Knives returned heatedly. 

/Yes, yes, I know, you could kill them all in a heartbeat. But you can't sit down and have a polite conversation with them, and that really should be the easier thing to do, shouldn't it? After all, you have a hell of a time trying to kill /me/, and us talking comes naturally./ 

/Yes, but I don't understand them. You are my /brother/,/ Knives replied, as though that was obvious.

/Yes, but they're family,/ Vash replied, a tad sadly, a tad fearful that Knives would attempt to pounce and strangle him in the doorway. Knives did pause in the doorway, trailing after Vash and the tall woman, and leaned on it briefly for strength. 

/I have actively chosen to remain here,/ he reminded himself before entering the kitchen where he would be expected to make nice with /vermin/... but at least all of them knew better than to antagonize him, or Vash. 

He tried to make himself believe that /this/ time, if he played nice, he would remain safe. Vash would make sure the others stayed their hands, but Knives didn't want to stay /his/. 

/Sacrifices,/ he thought to himself, covering his face with the hand that pressed against the doorframe /he had helped to build./ /This time it's not meaningless vermin lives, it's just my dignity./ 

/JUST!?/ the voice of his anger seethed in response, loudly enough to draw Vash's eye where the blond was leaving the bathroom after washing his hands. 

Vash spoke quietly over the background hum of ire blurring their connection, glancing up at him as he approached. /I'll be here afterward if you need....anything./ 

It sounded vague in both their heads, but Knives actively twisted it and replied, /Anything at /all/?/ 

Vash narrowed his eyes as he passed his brother, sad and fearful and wary. /Anything that I am willing to give you, which does not include my life or anyone else's./ Knives shook his head silently, not revealing any of his thoughts, and followed Vash to the kitchen. And was immediately shooed back out by The Stampede to wash his hands after being outside. 

Rolling his eyes, Knives complied, because it was easier than the alternative, and, truly, it didn't /hurt/ anything... just his pride. 

/JUST!?/ the same voice shouted inside his head, a remnant of a time when showing any weakness meant pain, when putting any stock in others' opinion of himself meant worse. 

Knives methodically washed and dried his hands and firmly told the frightened animal in the crude mirror that was hiding behind his eyes, /Yes, just my pride. I do not want to wander the desert alone anymore./ 

/NO!/ the tiny, angry voice immediately replied. /BE ALONE! OTHERS WILL KILL. VASH WILL KILL./ 

/Hah!/ Knives laughed at the voice as he used the towel to dust off his own pants, which were in better shape than Vash's. /Do not forget how Vash brought us here. How he cared for us unceasingly. Vash will not end my life. Not only is he ridiculously devoted to his ideals, he, for some reason, truly wants me to be here. And you with your irrational fear will not take me from his side. He is my brother. And he is much better company than you./ 

The piercing voice did not reply and Knives sighed, hoping the voice would stay silent for the rest of the night. He did have to admit that it seemed less frantic, less manic, than usual, and he attributed that to having 'gone for a run' earlier. Perhaps he would do so more often, he mused as he left the tiny room, throwing the thoroughly dusty towel into the dirty laundry bin.

Dinner began awkward and tense, Vash and Knives heatedly debating with each other mentally about when the best time to apologize would be. Knives frightened the rest of the table with his piercing gaze, watching them closely for signs of relaxation, which Vash assured him would appear once they had ingested sufficient nutrients. 

Once their contentment began to win out in the battle against their nerves, Knives snapped at Vash mentally to shut him up, inhaled purposefully, and began to speak. 

"Vash wants me to apologize for leaving the table without answering your question yesterday." He didn't look up as he said it, holding his face as neutral as possible to keep the instinctive sneer away. 

It seemed that the entire table stopped chewing at his words. 

Vash prompted him mentally and Knives couldn't keep his lips from peeling apart, exposing his top row of teeth. "He wants me to promise never to do it again. He's threatening me right now, actually." 

Wolfwood chuckled, partly to dispel the atmosphere, partly because he's had this conversation with Vash himself. "Yeah, kind of impressive how Needle Noggin can get so violent while being so peaceful, huh?" Knives grunted out a non-committal hum. Vash glanced over at Milly and made a pleading face.

"Hmm," she mused, attracting everyone's attention easily. "Mr. Knives?"

"Yes?" he asked dully, visions of the next several weeks of being alone in his head filling up his heart, making it hard for him to speak.

"It's important to always be honest to people, unless you have a really, really good reason to lie. Like saving their life." Knives managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Really? He was going to get the truthfulness lecture he'd heard this same woman give the larva of their species upon discovering they'd broken something? But she surprised him. 

"But if you don't want to answer a question, that's okay too!" He actually looked up at that and the faint confusion on his face reminded her so much of Vash in that moment she had to gulp down half her glass of water in order to find the strength to keep talking. "You only have to say, 'I'd rather not answer that question right now,' and we'll understand! We might ask you again later, though, if it was really important to us." Her imitation of Knives' voice was so off the mark, it was only recognizable as an imitation of /Knives/ due to context and the fact that it was deeper than her usual speaking voice. 

"Mh-hmm!" Meryl added. "We'll try not to pry," she promised obliquely, making Knives blink in an effort not to raise his eyebrows in flat disbelief. "But honest communication is /really/ important. It can save people /hours/, days, /weeks/, of misguided misinformation and worry and..." 

Meryl began to warm to her subject, recalling the time Vash never told her and Milly that he /was/ the Stampede they'd been searching for, which would have saved her so much confusion in those first couple of months. 

Vash placatingly held up his hands and insisted he /had/ told her, which Milly even corroborated. Wolfwood then took a jab at the hot-head's willful blindness, reminding her of the Quick Draw Tournament she had most certainly been witness to. 

The debate continued heatedly for quite some time as the food was polished off and even afterwards. Knives ate his food, hungrier than usual, again, probably because of the run, and remained silent. 

Eventually, the mortal man leaned back in his chair and stretched, telling everyone he was going to call it a night. Knives waited for the punch in the gut that was Vash's instinctual rush of adrenaline at the idea of spending another night locked in his brother's arms, but it never came. 

Knives stood and helped Vash clean off the table and set the soup up for the next morning, leaving Meryl in the washroom with a pair of waterproof gloves to do the dishes with a single, courteous, "Good night." 

Vash didn't turn to face him then, but a sensation like the sun rising filled Knives' head and he rolled his eyes at his brother. He was so easily pleased, and so difficult to dissuade. 

He followed Vash into their room, slightly confused by his own increased heartbeat as he peeled off his clothing and allowed Vash to wrap his arms around him and drag him down to their bed. He had a single, gut-wrenching thought that perhaps it wasn't Vash that dreaded their nights together in a heap. 

Perhaps it was the screaming, pride-filled voice of his ego. 

Perhaps it had been /him./ 

Quieted by the run, the food, the seemingly-successful apology, or his own vitriolic lecture of it, the small and pitiful voice didn't even rear its ugly head as Vash tugged the thin blanket over both of them, buried his face into Knives' collarbone and heaved a huge, contented sigh. Knives remained awake for longer than Vash did, as was his usual routine, but tonight, the gap was shorter than ever, and upon waking, Knives couldn’t even remember his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> It's messy, it's un-beta'd and I didn't take the time to change all the slashes to italics. That standard of editing was getting in the way of my uploading, which is more important. Thank the quarantine for the revival of this series. (I mean, I wrote this whole thing in like 2016, uploading is just a bit taxing.)
> 
> Please do comment if you'd like to do the italics-fixing beta-work or if you think of any tags I should add!


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